Mirror Mirror

Ever since the day she came home from school to find sixteen strange grown-ups in the living room partying with her parents, all drinking wine from those macrame high neck bottles and smoking large amounts of marijuana all day long, Lucy began to leave her body.

Mama taught her how to read phonetically when she became frustrated by the flash card system, and once she learned, she read all the way up to third grade level, diligently reading the dreadfully boring Dick and Jane books prescribed in the Sixties.

Mama taught her how to meditate, and soon she learned that she could soar above the noise and confusion any time she liked. But then she would forget to stay grounded even when she was walking. And she would walk into walls.

So Mama put her in ballet, so she could learn to remain in her body. But she also told her she really could fly. And after the sixteen people left the house, after two long confusing weeks, it was just their family again, with her little sister Jasmine and her baby brother Lamden. And Lucy would practice flying in her astral body every night after meditating, pretending she was on a magic carpet in India, escaping an evil villain and destined to be rescued by a magical prince and live forever in peace and happiness in a castle far away from the regular troubles of the world, on a golden island.

Little did she know that she was planting seeds which would provide nourishment for her through the difficult times she would experience throughout her life – and help keep her humble when she would be gifted with witnessing some amazing miracles which she would grow up to write about.

One thing she remembered about the sixteen people her parents brought home from a pub on the Santa Monica Pier that day in first grade was that all of them, including her parents, were shining.

They were ecstatic. They were blissful. They all hugged and kissed each other. They danced. They sang. They talked about a world of peace. They liked her mom’s garden. They exclaimed about her cooking. They took turns holding her baby brother and kissing him too.

So she treasured the memory of that time, when her parents had fallen in love with sixteen people after they all realized they were all a part of each other. And so they raised her to firmly believe this always. And so she usually did over the years. Sometimes she forgot, but then she would remember again. And she grew up to have six children, and she taught them this truth as well, and took them to the National Rainbow Gathering, where they all prayed for love and peace high up in the mountains, held hands and ohmed with thousands, all because of the seeds planted in her as a child.

As she grew, she would sometimes look in the mirror, and she would still see the same little girl who would leave her body and fly all over the world, with her imagination.

As she grew older, there were times she could not recognize the face in the mirror, during times of illness and pain. When recovering from surgery, she had to look hard to find that little girl in the mirror.

But then she learned to surrender. In seeing the beauty in all, she saw again the beauty in her own reflection, and despite the scars and wrinkles, she saw again the innocence and bliss she had as a little girl. But now she also had wisdom and strength.

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